


Dissension

by White_Rabbits_Clock



Series: Come On And Make Me [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: All the swearing, Alpha Thor, Beta Clint Barton, Beta Natasha Romanov, Cause it ain't fun without those., Fighting, Gen, Like, Mind Control, Omega Bruce Banner, Omega Loki, Omega Tony Stark, Rated M for, SHIELD doesn't believe in briefing people, Steve's an even bigger prick, Tony's a prick, a/b/o dynamics, for the madness of Tony Stark, no seriously, psychotic breaks, so much fighting, what the fuck SHIELD?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:44:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12767304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rabbits_Clock/pseuds/White_Rabbits_Clock
Summary: Steve was told that things are different now. A lot different, in fact. What he wasn't told is that one of the only omegas not on scent blockers is Tony Fucking Stark. Loud, abrasive, disruptive, difficult Tony Stark, who says he can smell rot on Loki Lafeyson and Clint Barton, and is determined to get to the bottom of it, even as others try to take out the threat is a mentally unstable magical warlord.





	1. That First Meeting

Maybe there will come a day when all things now don’t bother Steve. However, today, on the fourteenth day after he was defrosted, twelve days since they let him out of the hospital, one day since they started lightening up on the censoring of his news (yes, he knows, because why the fuck wouldn’t Fury do something dickheaded like that?) is not that day. 

Everywhere he goes, he smells omegas, mostly the flat scent all scent blockers have, but sometimes the liquid, dynamic smell of a non medicated male or female. There’s a voice in his head, a grouchy, wet cat of a voice, noting all the differences. 

_ This nonsense didn’t happen when we were in the army _ , the voice reminds him.

_ True _ , he answers,  _ but this is not 1940, is it? _ So he swallows down his trepidation as he watches one of the only omegas not on the pill saunter in, wearing trousers that fit way too well and an attitude that Steve has to fight the urge to relieve him of. Jesus. This is Anthony Stark? Steve can’t decide if Howard would be proud or disgusted at the absolute… Steve doesn’t know. Mess? Masterpiece? Just a regular old anomaly? 

“Star spangled man with a plan…” hums Anthony Stark as he saunters in through the door of their conference room and right up to Steve to stick out his hand in a move so alpha that Steve is almost fooled, except he’s not. No matter how masculine that ridiculous beard is, this is no alpha because there’s that scent again, all metal and energy and spice. Steve thinks he’s smelled the spice part before. 

“You’re an omega.” Steve blurts and, wow, that was not the thought he wanted out. He wanted the “nice to meet you” thought out.

“You’re kidding. What tipped you off?” Anthony snarks, and his smirk is brilliant and his hand is pulling away before Steve can shake it. He thinks he just failed a test.

“Ah…” and Steve wonders if maybe people have mistaken him from close up before? If maybe in this day and age there are plenty of people like Anthony-

“Sarcasm, darlin’. Don’t hurt yourself,” Tony quips again and Steve wants to respond because jesus this man is mouthy and Steve might have been frozen over for seventy fucking years but that is still not acceptable.

“Ah… and here’s the cavalry. Or would you be the foot soldier, and Stars ‘n Stripes here be the cavalry? Whatever. Tell me, Rushman, how are you still alive? Get a pardon from Pepper?”

“Pepper could not kill me.” This Rushman woman says, and Anthony Stark snorts through his nose.

“That’s what they all say. Right. Who else is here to piss off? Hmmm… wow. Just you, Doctor Banner? How unfortunate. By the way I’m a huge fan of the way you turn into a green rage monster. Totally my favorite thing. And I’m an engineer. I have lots of favorites but nothing quite tops that because wow-”

“Stark!”

“Ah, the one eyed dick has arrived. Did you miss me Fury? Got anymore needles?”

“I will if you don’t shut up,” he snaps, and Steve wants to mention how you don’t talk to omegas like that. It’s bad manners. Then he remembers everything Anthony Stark has said in the last five minute and keeps his mouth shut. Maybe everything is supposed to be bad manners.

“Make sure it’s a fresh needle. It would suck to have survived being roofied once by you only to die cause you were too dumb to get a fresh syringe.” Steve can see that Fury is irritated, and he wonders what happens when Anthony pushes too hard. And what the hell is a “roofie”?

Anthony Stark does the most graceful collapse in history into the conference chair.

“God these chairs suck more than you do. I’ll get you the name of my people. We can get you better chairs.”

“That’s enough. We’re here for a reason,” Steve says. Brown eyes slide over to him and seem to pin him in place, despite his lids only being at half mast.

“Look… Mr. Perfect… I know you don’t know shit about me, but keep in mind that you aren’t my handler,” he says with a dry and steady tone of voice. Abruptly, his attention switches elsewhere. “Dr. Banner. Are you planning on sitting down? I’d love it if you sat next to me. I promise I’ll be good if you ask nicely.” Dr. Banner seems to not care one way or the other, but he does, eventually, take a seat next to Anthony Stark.

“Yes! I knew I was cooler. Tell me how was India?” Anthony Stark seems set on annoying, then ignoring, everyone except Bruce. 

“India was good.” Steve can’t help but think that their attitudes should switch. That Stark should be sitting there with his legs crossed and his tone low. If Banner really is the alpha people say he is, he should be the one doing all the talking. Right now, though, Steve isn’t picking anything up from Banner, so he holds off on that expectation. 

“Lemme get your number. I feel like meming you.”

“Meming?”

“To meme someone. Internet humor, doctor. Hey hey hey I have a question.” his face changes, suddenly excited with the forming of an idea, and Steve really wants him to stop fucking talking.

“Stark, this is not the time. Let’s just get started before you can go off on a tangent again,” Fury cuts in, and before Anthony Stark can do more than raise the middle finger of his right hand, the projector is showing them a video from a few years ago, of a giant metal thing attacking a small town in a desert.

“That’s Loki’s work,” Fury says. The video changes to a giant blue beam of light, giving way to a big blond in… armor?

“That’s Thor, Loki's older brother.” Again, they watch a new scene where a dark, slim figure appears and attacks. Everywhere he goes, people fall still and then begin to follow him.

“That’s Loki again. We need him captured. Alive if you can, but nobody’s going to shed any tears if you can’t.”

“If we do manage to capture him alive, we will be questioning him. Extensively. Like civilized people,” Anthony Stark pipes up… AGAIN.

“My god, can we get through this brief without another interruption? Please?” Natasha snaps.

“Oh shut up, Rushman. If you aren’t used to me by now I don’t know what the fuck to tell you.”

“It’s not Rushman-”

“Funny. That’s not what I heard,” Tony snaps, and Steve thinks there’s something there that he doesn’t know about. Something that would warrant calling Natasha Romanov “Rushman”.

“She is right, Anthony," Steve tries to say.

“Tony, darlin’. I don’t go by Anthony.”

“And I don’t go by Rushman.”

“But that’s not what the fuck you told me, sooooo I’m going to ignore that.”

“She’s right… Tony. You can’t just expect people to call you what you want to be called and not offer them the same curtesy.” That doesn’t get Steve anything but a middle finger.

“What are you going to do about it, Rushman? Get my alpha to give me a punishment?”

“She ought to,” Steve mumbles, irritated at being flipped off for the second time in about twenty minutes. Abruptly Tony Stark’s head snaps back to look at him.

“What was that, Stars n’ Stripes?”

“I said your alpha should punish you,” Steve answers, louder, more confident. Punishment is exactly what this mouthy little omega needs. “You’re loud, abrasive, rude, and it’s like you don’t know anything about your role here and quite frankly I don’t work with omegas who don’t have any discipline.” The room is silent for a moment, and Steve can’t figure what the issue is with everyone putting up with Anthony Stark’s stupid behavior. Nor does he know why Fury looks like he wants to die or why Ms. Romanov has started grinning or-

“Oooooh you all heard him. Find my alpha… I need a punishment.” and now Anthony Stark is laughing as though the prospect of a reprimand from the most important part of his life is funny. Abruptly he stops laughing and rises from his chair as gracefully as he’d collapsed in it. 

He saunters round the conference table and takes the seat next to Steve. His legs are spread way too wide for an omega. Captain America gets the distinct feeling he has just shoved his entire leg into his mouth. Tony doesn’t even hold his gaze for all that long. Instead, it flicks beyond him to Fury. His scent gets icier, colder somehow, as though it’s more metal than spice.

“For shame, Fury, thawing out a piece of forties propaganda and telling him he has to fight, then dumping in the same room as me without telling him anything. For instance, I bet you don’t tell him that I don’t have an alpha, and I sure as hell don’t need one. I bet you didn’t tell him that I’m actually a consultant, not a part of the Avengers Initiative- in fact, I come highly Not Recommended- and I’m really only here because I feel like it. I bet you didn’t tell him that as the fucker out of time and with no place to go, he is in no place to decide who he will and will not work with. I bet you didn’t tell him that omegas don’t just get “reprimanded” anymore, and a lot of those “reprimands” that he seems to be okay with are actually classified as abuse. I bet you didn’t tell him any of that, did you? Because fuck him understanding what the fuck is happening. He just needs to be your doggy, right?”

The room is silent. Once again, Anthony Stark has ruined the mood. 

“None of that is true. We had intended to ease him into society. This Loki deal is kind of a surprise.” Fury seems unimpressed.

“So get the man a damn crash course and fucking brief him seperately, dumbass.” Tony’s eyes flick back to Steve, who looks decidedly uncomfortable. 

“Let’s go, Stars ‘n Stripes. You too, Doctor Banner. I’ve heard what I need to know, and I think we have some catching up to do. Oh, and don’t fucking mention a reprimand again.” Then Tony is up and out of his seat. Bruce isn’t dumb, and moves to follow him. Steve looks at Fury, all leather and gunoil, and looks at the door, where Tony Stark has turned back towards him, one eye arched.

“Coming, slowpoke?” Tony Stark’s right. Fury didn’t tell him shit. Tony stalks off, and his two new friends move to keep up with him.

“Okay, crash course time. First of all this is Doctor Banner. That’s his name. He’s not Omega Banner. He’s not Banner, or Bruce, or any pet name you might wish to assign him. He is whoever he says he is, and he has the final word in that. Secondly: these are the things that are outdated and highly discouraged, by which I mean ranging from taboo to illegal: Sexual harassment; if they don’t like it, you don’t scent it, touch it, stop it from leaving or making noise, or fuck it.” They turn a corner.

“Thirdly, Omegas don’t have owners, officially or unofficially. Don’t ask one about who is signing off on this or that, who is permitting them to spend that much, who co-owns their patents, or who runs their business or their home, etc., etc.” They step into the elevator, and begin to descend without pressing the button.

“Fourthly, harassment of any kind will not be tolerated. You may not speak to me about any of my private business that you may feel you have the right to inquire about. If I am not bleeding out on the damn snow, do not inquire about anything you would not ask an alpha about, same goes for Doctor Banner.”

“Who says you’re right? So far all you’ve done is shoot your mouth off.” Tony fixes him with that cocked eyebrow again.

“That was a test, to see what they told you, which is fucking nothing, by the way. I am definitely that talkative, but I’m certainly not that confrontational.”

“Oh.” the elevator has let them out, and Tony leads them along the hallways until they find themselves standing in front a door that requires a keypad to access. It’s the work of a moment to get him into the complete, lovely, fully outfitted lab.

“God, this place is giving me a sciencegasm.”

“Tony!”

“Look, Stars n’ Stripes, I tell the truth, okay? And this place is great. This is almost, but not quite, as good as my own lab. I didn’t even think SHIELD had it in them. Now… what did they want you to do? Track the damn glowstick?” Tony’s ever-shifting eyes land on Bruce again. The other scientist seems as ill prepared for the full force of Tony’s attention as Steve is, except, you know, in a better way.

“Uh… yeah.”

“Shall we, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright Stars n’-”

“Captain America.” the room falls silent as the echos of what Tony had said about Bruce came back to them all. Brown eyes lock onto blues, and if it was an alpha, Steve would be ready for the challenge. Instead beautifully turned out shoulders shrug and one nonchalant hand waves through the air. 

“I was wondering when you’d call me on that.”

“Well, in my day you didn’t give an alpha a nickname at all. That’s something the alpha would give to you.”

“This isn’t your day, Captain America, so you can get with the program or scat. We’ve got real work to do that doesn’t involve your reeducation.” Then Tony’s turned away, talking with Bruce. Their tones are so low and musical that Steve can’t make out shit. Eventually, he has to leave. He’s not used to being ignored like that.

 


	2. Here Come the Goddamn Minions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hulk gets loose, Tony starts shit and finishes other shit, and things prove to be out of everyone's control.

Loki is… worryingly predictable. Tony Stark sits across from him, that eyebrow cocked again inside his helmet, observing. Eventually, he gives up the goose and flicks his helmet up.

“I did not think a race so backwards would allow for your participation, omega.”

“First of all, it’s either Iron Man or Tony. No if, ands, or buts about it. Second of all, they didn’t. Not until recently.” Tony can see that Steve wants to but in, and silently begs him to just shut up. He’s going to spew his casual forties chauvinism all over the place, and it’s going to suck even more than the offhand comments and the leader complex do.

“Iron man. Funny really. Your suit has very little iron.”

“Yeah, but nothing else sounded even remotely as good.” White teeth flash in the overheads, and eyes bluer and deader than Steve’s bore into him.

“Let me tell you a story, Iron Man who has no iron.” The jet is silent as all eyes turn towards the man in chains.

“Once there was a little race who thought they knew it all. In the end, it turned out that they knew  _ nothing _ ,” he hisses out. Tony can smell the warring aroma of the green of new growth, of learning and changing and something wonderful, and the old, icy scent that Tony thinks is Loki’s base, and finally, there’s something else, some tinge of rot across it all. Not enough to be noticed by anyone who wasn’t paying attention, but enough still.

“Can I tell you a story?” Tony quips back, one side of his mouth hitching up.

“Very well.”

“Once there was a guy,” and here, Tony moves closer and closer until one of his feet is between both of Loki’s, “who was so afraid that he couldn’t hide it, no matter how hard he tried.” He practically whispers this into Loki’s ear, never touching, never attempting to carry out and mimic the rest of alpha domination behavior, but it is enough. He withdraws, smirks, and sits back down. 

Steve gives another glance to Tony’s knees, and the omega gives him another disinterested eyebrow.

 

…

 

Maybe the reason why hospitals are always so white and blindingly bright is because it’s easier to see sickness, Tony thinks as he eyes the way Loki stands, tall and proud and deathly, deathly ill. The brother- the knotheaded one, unfortunately- is a floor up, arguing fiercely in old english. Tony wonders if he’s noticed. Probably hasn’t. That rot wasn’t something Tony picked up until he really wanted to find it. 

With one more half shrug, he departs. Loki isn’t paying any fucking attention to him. Besides, Loki’s not really interesting right now. What is interesting is how that knothead of a brother of his hasn’t picked up on the rot himself. Tony intends to do some digging. 

His hands are in his trousers and his attitude is wrapped around him as he saunters (obviously. How the fuck else would he enter anywhere?) into a room where Thor is and collapses as carefree and obnoxiously as ever into a chair.

“So. Point break. Lightning bug. Big, blond, and not paying attention.” At this point, the alien seems to realize that Tony is talking to him, because he lifts an eyebrow.

“None of those are my names.”

“Well, they’re nicknames, so unless you have express wish that I call you by your given name, they’re staying.” After a moment of deliberation, Thor shrugs.

“I am unsure what you mean by not paying attention.”

“I mean your brother’s sick. He smells like rot.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because… I smelled him. It’s really subtle. Like juice that is just barely too long in the sun.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So why does your brother smell like rot?” Tony’s foot jiggles, and he’s impatient. He really really really wants to know. He notes that Thor smells like a thunderstorm, all heavy wind and rain and lightning cracking across the sky.

“He tried to kill himself.” Tony’s eyebrows quirk up. That’s interesting. 

“By doing what?”

“By allowing himself to fall off the edge of the bifrost and into the void below.”

“What’s in the void?”

“We do not know. Legends tell that where the roots of Yggdrasil meet, the shadows are so dark and impenetrable, and the life is so close that those places cannot help but breed demonic monsters.”

“What else do the legends tell?”

“That it may be a good idea to kill Loki if we cannot stop his madness.”

“Oooooh interesting. Why?”

“Because he’s destined to start Ragnarok.”

“End of the world. Poosh. Kablooie.  _ Splat _ -”

“Enough.” and, mercifully, Tony listens to that one. He pulls his ankle off where it rested on his knee and spins to face Thor fully.

“Okay, let me ask you an honest question: do you really think that a giant expanse of unexplored space is uninhabited?”

“I… no.”

“And do you really think that if a godling survived, he would not have met some of those things no one knows about?”

“No.”

“Then get off your ass and help me figure out what’s really wrong with Loki.” Thor looks so conflicted right now that it’s almost funny. But then he is rising, decision made. 

“Very well, friend-” the alarms cut him off, and Tony drops his head back and rolls his eyes.

“Fucking Fury spending all his goddamn time on this goddamn ship and can’t keep the shit safe-” and then the door is closing behind Tony, Thor chasing after him. 

 

…

 

Natasha is stuck evading the Hulk, the goddamn helicarrier is going down, and Tony Stark has got no fucking time to be conflicted.

“Hurry up!” He shouts to Thor.

“I assure you, i don’t do this at my leisure!”

“There’s a hulk on the loose, and every second you take is making everything worse!” he snaps as he works to spin the damn fan blades fast enough to get this bitch stable again. It takes a total of six minutes, seventeen seconds. Then Tony is away again, jetting through the halls and into the underbelly of the ship, where Natasha is working to keep the Hulk contained. 

“I got it.”

“You’re a civilian,” she hisses. Tony rolls his eyes and detracts his suit, the scent of omega so strong and powerful that he’s nearly choking on it. Maybe the strength is why people often miscategorize him as an alpha. Bruce Banner hardly smells like anything, just like something warm and clean. Here, with The Other Guy out in the open, and the scent of omega strong enough to knock someone out, he smells like rain after the storm. Like green tea on a cloudy day, like-

“Hey big guy,” Tony says as he moves throughout the ruined lower deck, closer to the grunting and roaring. He steps slowly into view, and tries to keep himself looking innocent. He could get his head pulverized right now. 

Green eyes glare daggers at him, and that giant maw roars again. Tony reaches out a hand.

“You know you smell nice? Like petrichor. Like good earth. Like the grass is gonna grow green on its own, no sprinklers needed.” Tony’s edging closer.

“You smell like you could keep the world safe, if you felt like it.” He’s just inches away, and the Hulk has started to look unsure, like he’s not overly certain why, for only the second time in his life, an omega is attempting to calm down The Other Guy face to face, and not through Banner.

“I told Doctor Banner I was a huge fan of you. I still am.” the hulk looks around, and down at where the tips of Tony’s fingers have touched the back of his hand. He surveys the mess.

“Men lock me away.”

“Not me. Remember: they don’t own you and they don’t own Banner. You can do what you want.”

“Not sure what want.”

“So come see with me. I still want you to move in.” Tony’s hand has slid to the side of the Hulk’s and he’s grasped at the thick side of the palm. 

“Break things.”

“I’ll replace them. You’ll have a lab, and a room for when you need to not be near anything- one you could break, if you really, really wanted to. You’d have all the time in the world to be quiet and think, or be loud. I just need you to come back down to me, for a bit. Let me talk to Banner.” The hulk moves his other hand up like he wants to talk, but instead settles for smelling Tony. The inventor closes his eyes and breathes in the rain.

They stay like that for a long time, until the hulk begins to grow smaller, and Banner collapses into Tony’s chest.

“Good, doctor,” he murmurs as he lowers Bruce to lean against the wall and looks around. There must be a storage room around here… ah! He returns with a scratchy standard SHIELD blanket and lays it over Bruce’s lap, and the two just sit there for a while, looking at the mess.

“No one touches me,” Bruce says after a while. His head is on Tony’s shoulder, and he’s falling asleep.

“How unfortunate. They’re missing out on a lot.” Bruce’s eyes slide closed, and he sleeps while he can. After half an hour, boots stomp down the stairs, and Tony sees Steve come into view. For a moment, he thinks he sees a flash of something judgemental, and then:

“Loki’s escaped.” 


	3. Phase Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets himself into hot water the way he gets himself into other issues: jumping in feet first and dragging someone along with him.

 

“Well it’s not like he tried all that hard to avoid getting captured in the first place. Plus, we have the guy… Barton. Right. So that’s two superspies, one god, one supersoldier, a physicist, and an engineer. With an issue.” Tony says. His legs aren’t open this time, but only by virtue of the fact that you can’t sit with your legs over the armrest of a chair and have it come off smooth if they aren’t crossed.

“What issue?” Steve asks.

“We don’t think it’s just Loki.” Tony drawls, hoping he has the support of Thor like he thinks he does.

“How could it not be just Loki?”

“Because the last time Thor here checked, Loki fell off a bridge and into a void where monsters are said to roam. Suddenly he’s on earth, making moves to rule it… and intentionally getting captured?” This, finished with a sceptical eyebrow.

“Tony, with all due respect, people don’t act like this. They make their own choices, and Loki is choosing to kill,” Steve says, and he sounds like he’s trying to be reasonable.

“And with all due respect, I didn’t ask about normal, so think about the facts before you go dismissing me. Those facts are, in no particular order: Loki tried to kill himself by jumping into a void which may be filled with monsters but no one fucking knows if that’s true or not. He would not be gunning for earth, he would be gunning for Asgard if he was in his right mind, or really just his mind. Three: Thor’s never seen that staff, so he got it from someone, somewhere, or something,” Tony finishes, eyes sweeping over the assembled “heroes” and daring anyone to revert to “well it’s usually like this” again.

Doctor Banner is in his lab. The one they got back- Clint Barton, is still in medical. Everyone else (read: Fury, Coulson, himself, Steve, Thor, and Natasha) is seated at yet another easily broken conference table. 

“Well how ‘bout we consider these facts, as well,” Fury points a finger at Tony, whose knees are still too far apart, “this ain’t your team. You’re not the leader.” He jerks a thumb at Steve. “That guy, who has been a leader before, is, so kindly let him make the goddamn decisions.”

“That guy who knew literally nothing before me and my insubordinate ass walked in on him being all forties and stupid?”

“I am not stupid.”

“You’re missing the point, Captain America.”

“Friends. Why do we argue? On Asgard, omegas are thought to be the most important part of any group,” Thor interrupts.

“So why did your brother fall then? It ain’t because he was getting love and affection from everyone and their mothers.” Thor frowns, uncomfortable with the turn his attempt at peace-making has gone. Lady Jane did not mention that there would be the likes of Tony Stark when he gave an anecdote on the way things could go if people only chose it.

“Loki has always been strange. I suppose it would be fair to say he was never part of a group to be important in.”

“Interesting. Do omegas rely on their groups?”

“Not Loki.”

“But omegas in general. Do they?”

“Yes.”

“So is it fair to say that our least favorite prince has been too isolated, and now he’s a bit wonky because of it?” This gives Thor pause.

“It seemed to me that he chased what friends he could make off, as they always came back to try and hurt him later.”

“So, hypothesis: Loki is crazy, but not murder-everyone crazy. More like need-to-belong crazy. I think we can work with that.”

“We aren’t working with the guy who killed eighty people in three days.”

“Yeah, you’re right. First we gotta get rid of that rot.”

“We aren’t getting rid of the rot. We’re capturing him, and Thor can take him back home, and they can deal with his scent there. Not here,” Steve interjects.

“Bet he comes back. The fucker survived suicide. We can deal with him now while he’s here and he’s got the chance to turn back, or we can deal with him later when he eventually slips Asgard’s chains.”

“The Man of Iron is right. I would like to address this madness sooner rather than later. If it can be done planets away from the throne and from anything that might have made him sick, it would be wiser.” Tony’s phone beeps at him.

“Fury, you knot.”

“Language,” Steve warns.

“Fuck off,” Tony replies.

“What’s phase two, Fury?” Tony says in that quick, manic way he has of speaking. For a moment, he thinks Fury’s going to come clean, and then:

“An answer to things like the Destroyer.”

“Bullshit. Why would you hinge defense against a real and unquantifiable threat on something you have a hard time controlling or even keeping?”

“We were close before it was stolen.”

“God, the nerve of… wait, let me back up. Phase two, everyone.” Blue screens flick into existence, and the assembled Avengers can see the schematics for weapons. 

“Who wants to go see the real thing?” Steve feels betrayed, and confused. On the one hand, Fury lied to him, and Tony needs to learn to take orders. On the other hand, Fury is the only help he’s going to get with Tony Stark and he is the one who made Steve the leader of the team.

“No one? Not even you, Thor? Fine. Guess I’ll go find the ball myself.”

“Stark, you can’t just go and fuck with experimental weapons.”

“Fury, you can’t just lie to me about the reason you’ve got me in this shit show.”

“Ton-”

“Fuck off, Rushman.” Tony’s out of his seat, and stalking out of the door. He doesn’t even get to the end of the hallway before he’s being stopped. He surreptitiously presses the middle of the volume button on his phone.

Down in his lab, Bruce Banner is looking at the staff, trying to figure out what he’s going to do with a dangerous piece of equipment in a helicarrier full of alphas and betas who are not afraid to try and kill him.

The computer monitors all freeze, except for the one in front of him. He leans closer.

 

**Hello. My name is JARVIS. I am the AI of Anthony Edward Stark. I have been told to contact you pending a certain investigation Mr. Stark had going on. It appears the investigation has finished, and Mr. Stark has discovered that these are meant to be powered by the Tesseract.** The schematics for the weapons pop up.

**Mr. Stark suggests you abandon ship. He is worried about your well being.** Bruce gets up off the stool and reaches out to put the staff in an oblong case. He sure as hell isn’t leaving the disgusting thing behind. He doesn’t get any farther than the hall before he’s being detained and escorted along the hallways. They try to take the case, but his eye flash green. He gets an inch taller and then they’re backing up, just moving him along until they can push him into a large glass container.

“Oh, hell.” he mumbles as the door closes behind him. He had always thought it was odd that Loki was kept in a near perfect prison. Turns out it wasn’t for him at all. He can see, on the other side of the glass, Steve Rogers standing there, waiting for him to notice.

“I was under the impression that this isn’t supposed to happen, Captain America.” and Bruce says it so mildly, so omega like, that Steve almost wants to let him out.

“Anthony’s a danger to everyone. It’s believed that he compromised you.” Bruce finishes looking around and locks his gaze onto Steve’s face.

“You know, I might not be able to smell you, but I know denial when I see one. You’re mad because you’re out of your league and there’s an omega on the team who is not and now you feel like you have to assert dominance. That’s how forties alphas did shit right? Just assumed they knew better and tried to get rid of anyone who could prove them wrong?” that warm feeling of approval evaporates.

“Now hang on. Tony’s being detained because he’s poking into SHIELD’s business. Not because I have a problem.”

“Funny. I don’t see you trying to get our resident expert out of detainment, and if weapons are the end goal here, I don’t want to help either. Tony was brought in under false pretenses. Are you going to tell me he should just do what they say?” Steve shrugs a bit, uncomfortable.

“There are ways to address misinformation. His are not one of them. But I didn’t come here to talk about him. I came to talk about you.”

“You might as well not, Captain. I’m not helping either.” the two stare at each other, and Steve has the feeling he could win this if there weren’t glass between them. But as it is, no one is dumb enough to get in the cage with the Hulk.

“Suit yourself, then.” he says, and turns away. Banner would come around eventually. All omegas do.

Banner takes a seat at the far end of the cage, and turns to stare into the closest security camera, aware that the AI that had spoken to him earlier would be watching for him now.


	4. A Drop In The Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony works it out with the gang, gains an ally in the mess, meets Clint and tries to foster a new friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted my other work just a bit late, so this one's just a bit early.

“Alright, now that we’re all calm, let me explain something to you. There are aliens out there, Stark. Crazy aliens. Warmongering aliens. Warrior prince aliens. They’re all out there, and we’d be a fool not to think that our little brush with the Destroyer and the outcome of this current conflict won’t at least raise a cosmic eyebrow. Phase two is meant to protect us,” Fury finishes, his one eye every bit as glaring and baleful as he would be with two. Steve Rogers nods. It makes sense.

“Interesting. Here’s the goddamn deal, Fury, and you too, Captain America, since you apparently see the sense in all this: Stark Industries does not make weapons. The CEO of Stark Industries does not make weapons. The head of R&D also does not make weapons. Not even in his spare time. So you are not going to lie to that guy about your reasons for locating a dangerous and unstable cube that the Captain here has said himself should have been left in the fucking ice. 

“But since you did lie to that guy, you are going to let him and his friend who I know you didn’t fucking let do his own thing loose, and you’re going to leave us alone. If you don’t, I’ll just tear everything apart from the inside. If you do, well, you won’t have to worry about making an enemy out of two geniuses, one of which just can’t fucking die already, and the other of which refuses to.” 

Steve knows none of this would have happened in the forties. At worst, Stark would have been told by his alpha to do the job being asked of him at the very beginning, not now, mid-mission. At best, Tony would never have set foot on the Helicarrier.  

“Stark, we can’t do that. We need that cube found and contained. We need the madman who controls it found and contained without you giving into your damn instincts to make everyone alright, and we need these things done yesterday. Sorry you found out, but you’re on the hook still.”

“I’d like to see you try and make me.”

An alpha could make you.

“Tony, we need to work together,” and Steve tries to convey with his eyes how he doesn’t like it either, but there are other, more time-sensitive problems to deal with. That eyebrow goes up, and for the first time, Steve is unnerved by the tinted glasses and how Tony smells like all metal, no spice now. 

“You need me. I don’t need you. Understand that the relationship is parasitic, not symbiotic.” 

“If the Man of Iron’s issue is with the use of the Tesseract, then that is easy to solve, because it won’t be staying on earth. Not with the propensity to fall into dangerous hands. It will go back to my father’s vault, to be guarded, but not used, for as long as Asgard stands. If his issue is with this friend of his, I do not approve of his detainment either. If the Man of Iron chooses to walk, so to shall I, and you will be left without a place to contain Loki for the long run. It would be most unfortunate, I think, to turn away the Man of Iron,” Thor notes, and there’s no tension in his body. If Tony didn’t know better, he would say the big blond knothead is just discussing the weather.

And yet… he has turned the tide of this mental battle. Fury sits back in his chair, baleful and angry, thinking. To let both Bruce and Tony off the hook… well. That might just be disastrous. Even more than that though, it would be bad to watch Thor’s back as he walks away. 

“Fine,” he says eventually. 

“Not fine. If Loki’s sick, we need to know about it, because we can use it to our advantage. I vote we find a way to check up on that. The Tesseract must go back with Thor. No if ands or buts about it. There will be no more cages. Not for me. Certainly not for Doctor Banner. If we say we want to leave, you don’t get to stop us. If Captain America wants to lead, that’s fine, but there will be none of this discrimination based on gender crap you somehow haven’t talked to him about yet. Deal?” Tony says, and his legs are still too wide.

“Deal.” His head turns to Steve, then to Natasha, who both repeat after Fury.

“Now that the air is cleared friends, I believe we have a man to aquire?”

 

…

 

Bruce isn’t sure why they let him out, but he knows he’s glad. What he’s less glad about is when he’s told Tony would like to meet him outside a standard containment room.

“Ready?”

“Ready.” Bruce is not ready at all, but fuck it, right? It’s Tony Stark, the only omega who is both unmedicated and brazenly infamous as he is. Natasha is here, watching him like he’s about to explode. Eventually though, she keys the code in and Tony Stark pushes open the door and steps inside. 

The agent on the bed is in something skin tight, with some sort of harness on. His eyes are closed and he’s sleeping. He smells like metal polish and stones. For a moment, Tony decides he likes this scent, though he smells like an alpha that is way too beta. Then it hits him and he’s backing up out of the room. His nose is crinkled up, and disgust is on his face. For a moment, Bruce can smell it too. Then the door is closing and they’re looking at each other.

“Rot.” he says

“Well… that’s interesting,” Bruce notes. Tony takes a moment and a breath, then walks back inside.

“Sleep well, Barton?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Tony Stark. Genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist. You know, the works.”

“Right. Why are you here?” Barton says as he pushes himself to sit up. Tony leans a hip against the bedrail down by Clint’s knee.

“SHIELD lost track of their toys. Hey you know that cube thingy? Did you know they’re making weapons out of it? They’re as in “they were”, as the cube is sooooo leaving this planet, and not “they are” as in everyone is going to look the other way.” Clint is quiet for a moment, and all there is is the smell of rot and oil.

“No. No I didn’t.”

“Well. As the saying goes, if you don't know, now you know.” Clint rustles up a smirk from somewhere the migraine hasn’t destroyed just yet.

“God, my head.”

“Yeah. About that. What does it feel like to be mind controlled?” Tony asks as he fishes in his suit jacket for his emergency ibuprofen. It’s prescription grade stuff but he figures it won’t hurt Barton to have some.

“Ah…” he says as he simultaneously tries to process the offering of meds and water and the question. 

“Not at 100%?”

“No. Where’s ‘Tasha?”

“Rushman? Around. Actually, probably watching. She’s good like that.”

“You’re still mad about that?”

“Not mad, salty. Two totally different things.” Clint succeeds in making up his mind and throws back the ibuprofen and water.

“Right. What are you doing?”

“You smell like rot. Loki smells like rot… so either you two were fucking while you were with him or he’s got a similar, but bigger problem than the one he gave you.” Clint tries not to flinch. God, Nat was right. There’s no toning Stark down.

“So, what, you think he’s being mind-controlled? And what rot? I don’t smell rot.”

“You know how everyone’s got that scent that lets people know if they’re alpha, beta, or omega?”

“Yeah.”

“I got that one down pat, and sometimes I get something extra.”

“That’s… interesting,” Barton says, leaning back against the pillows. For whatever reason, Tony’s blase, I’ll-do-what-I-want attitude is putting him at ease. Maybe it’s because he’s an omega. 

“You are the second person to say that to me today,” Tony says with a smirk, “your head any better?”

“Getting there.”

“You feel like laying around waiting for it?” He thinks for a minute.

“Ah… no.” Tony pushes himself away from the bedside and offers a hand.

“Come on, then.” Clint gives him a smirk and takes the offer. In the hall, there’s a scruffy dude hiding behind his curls. He smells of almost nothing. Clean-ish, Barton thinks. It’s nice. Soothing.

“Agent Barton, Doctor Banner. Doctor Banner, Agent Barton.”

“Just Bruce.”

“Clint.” They shake. Tony tries not to smile. He thinks he can see a friendship forming in the near future. God knows Bruce could use a friend or two that isn’t what people have referred to as a manic pixie dream girl, after the movie trope.

It’s not that being a manic pixie dream man is all that bad, it’s just that in the movies it’s always a beta, not an alpha or an omega. It’s just that in the movies you don’t really see how “manic” isn’t just “happy all the time” and pixie isn’t all flower-crown and perfect-song magic and not all dreams make sense or go all that well in the first place. Manic pixie dream boys and manic pixie dream girls don’t have a thought in their head outside of the now and maybe a little art on the side (not too much, just enough to be interesting). Perhaps the most damning thing about manic pixie dreams is they, by definition, do not evolve. 

So maybe Bruce needs another friend, in case his idea of Tony goes in the direction of manic pixie dream girls. He’s glad that maybe he can give him one. 

Tony’s leading the way, and it’s quiet in the hall as they pass various checkpoints. The conference room that is currently serving as the Avengers headquarters is still hosting Thor and Steve, who have been fed. On the table is a handful of platters- sandwiches and soups and bags of chips and a stack of styrofoam plates and soda and other shit that Tony definitely doesn’t want to eat because it’s all already open.

He slides (gracefully, alpha-like) into an empty chair, props his chin on his hands, and smiles beatifically. Sarcastically. Clint pauses. The fuck do you even call that? Stark-tastically? Yeah. That works.

“So Clint here’s on our side now. Rushman will be so happy.” Steve frowns in Clints direction.

“Isn’t he compromised?”

“Nope. I would smell it.”

“How do you even smell compromised? What does that even smell like?”

“Rot, evidently. Alright, does anyone know where Loki-dokes is going to be?” Thor starts to open his mouth, face a bit confused at the nickname.

“Friend Stark, I believe he is-”

“Tony, remember that giant building you’ve got?” Fury interrupts him as he charges into the room, Natasha behind him.

“Yeah.”

“Guess where your newest charity case is at?” There’s a moment of silence, and then: 

“Well, hell.”


	5. A Change In the Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Battle of New York, now with 50% more sass. Bonus: Tony and Steve working on their shit.

“Ah, yes, where is the best place to open a fucking portal? Stark Tower! Most advanced building in New York, brain-child of Pepper Potts and Tony Stark and-”

“Can it, Stark. This isn’t about you.”

“My building! My multi-million dollar building!”

“I said that’s enough,” Steve snaps over the comms, “the ugliest building on the skyline is not cause for concern right now.”

“That’s it. I’m telling Pepper, and she’s totally going to kick your-”

“Three minutes,” Clint says from where he’s perusing the various tech in the cockpit, and Tony knows he didn’t _accidentally_ interrupt Tony with better timing than a fucking nineties sitcom.

“Get it together, Stark, we’re going to need you here, not in la-la-land,” Natasha orders.

“The welfare of everyone in that building is not fucking la-la-land, Rushman! In- hey Pepper.”

“Tony! How are you? Are you in the suit? Why are you in the suit? You actually have a board meeting you’re supposed to be to right now so-”

“Ah, hate to interrupt, darlin’, but the answers to those questions are peachy, yes, aliens are real, and I am aware, in that order." Over the video call, Pepper opens her mouth again, but Tony cuts her off.

“Sorry for interrupting you. Yes, I meant the thing about the aliens, and one of them is planning to something dastardly directly above Stark Tower, so if you and everyone in the building could, like, go very far away pleaseformeanddon’taskquestions?”

“Tony…”

“I’ll do a full debrief with you but not right now.”

“I…” he can see she’s questioning his sanity. “Okay.” Evidently, she has decided that the situation is more insane than Tony is. Thankfully, the conversation stops after that because she hangs up without a goodbye. Tony can’t help but be salty about that, even though he knows that “aliens. Get out now” announcements without so much as a by-you-leave are waaaaay worse than getting off the phone to follow those directions.

“See? Not la-la-land. Damage control.”

“How you manage to control damage when you are half the problem is beyond me,” Steve grouses.

“I am  _ not _ half the problem. The problem is 90% aliens, 7% mind control, 1% my personality, and 2% your ego and ideas of team management. So there.” If Stark sounds a little petulant about only being “half” a problem (why not the entire problem? Why not mind-fuck the world?), it’s hidden under smugness about being part of the problem at all.

“Your personality is-”

“I thought we were not going to fuck off to la-la-land,” Barton snaps as their three minutes ends and the jet begins to land. Tony’s on ahead of the rest, along with Thor. He needs to get to the tower to do something potentially interesting. 

The penthouse floor, which he has been in on his own for the longest, is empty, but Tony doesn’t worry about that quite yet. He needs to attract a mad omega, possibly (highly likely; chances up to 76%, by his estimation) mind-controlled, definitely not in possession of all of his faculties. Tony isn’t dumb and neither is this plan, despite what Steve thinks (said. Very vocally). Stark did his research. A conversation with Thor told him all he needed to know about Asgardians (they work like the dumb mortals they think themselves above).

Omegas of any race will, upon feeling unstable, instinctively seek out the strongest, safest omega in the room if they are not bonded. Over the last day or two, Tony Stark has undergone a series of minor explosions from Rogers that all chalk up to he is too alpha for an omega. He is too strong, too stubborn, too can-and-will-do for an omega. He’s going to bet his ass that Loki will come to him. 

When he does, Tony intends to be a distraction until the real plan can kick into place. He steps out of his suit and has it disengage. Now is the time for a gin-and-tonic. He sets about mixing the perfect concoction, takes his time when he drinks. Savors the flavor of it on his tongue. Makes sure he doesn’t go too fast.

“Your world is falling apart, and you are indoors, safe in your tower.” The portal isn’t open yet, Tony knows. He also knows that the team is on standby, hidden in this place or that, just waiting. Tony wonders how much of Steve’s self control is at play here, letting him be the frontrunner of his brain-child and hare-brained plan.

“Did you know that the first time my world fell apart I was twelve years old?” Loki’s face shifts, like he’s not used to real, if unimportant, information following on the heels of barely begun conversations like these.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well my father’s butler basically raised me, and that’s when he died.” Tony has been locating another crystal-cut glass and a decanter with pretty amber liquid in it.

“And your true father?” Tony gives himself a moment to regret that the comms are on and they can hear every moment of this conversation. Every inflection. Every unpleasant memory that goes down so much worse than gin-and-anything. 

“Was no father. Didn’t hurt much when he died.” There’s this look, like this madman knows far to intimately of what Tony Stark says.

“Was there no one else?” Tony presses the glass into Loki’s hand, and they’re too close for enemies. He’s too distracted for a warlord, for an omega in grave danger.

“My mother. Car crash. Same one that killed my dad. Obadiah Stane. Like an uncle, until he was my near-murderer, twice over.”

“One would think that the dark would call to you.”

“It does. So why earth?” Loki shrugs one shoulder.

“Why anywhere?”

“That’s Macallan, 1884 series. Good stuff.” Loki takes a drink. He looks kind of sad, really, having entered the room fully decked out in armor, only to get into a conversation where Tony tells him that he isn’t the first to make his world fall apart. He smells so strongly of rot that it’s almost hard to breathe.

“The portal’s open now,” Loki tells him, and he thinks that this mortal, who he’s told is highly advanced, should be out to kill him. Tony shrugs one shoulder.

“They’ve got it. Don’t really even want me on the field.” 

“But you step into the presence of a mad man.” His voice is so soft, and without either of them noticing, Loki has sunk to the ground. His instincts are slipping seamlessly into the driver's seat.

“I do what I want. And what I wanted was to see if you were alright.”

“We’re going to win. And then I will rule.”

“Maybe. Right now though? Kinda beside the point.” Tony sits down across from him. Their knees are almost touching. Tony tips his drink towards Loki and takes another mouthful.

“It’s the entire point. You lose. I rule.”

“But that’s the thing Reindeer Games. I don’t think you want to be here at all.” And for a moment, the scent of another omega, sitting there drinking with him on the half step that separates the bar are from the living room, gets to Loki. He closes his eyes and breathes for the first time in an age. 

It’s been too long since he’s been around another omega. Everywhere he turns, it’s all alphas, alphas, alphas and their alpha ways. It’s just- the hum of noise in his head that has guided him for too long increases to painful, all consuming whiteness, and when he next sees again, the mortal is falling, falling, falling away, only for his armor to come wrap around him.

He didn’t mean to do that. He thinks that, maybe, if they don’t kill him when it’s all over, he will keep this omega in particular. He likes how he smells like metal and spice and energy too. He didn’t think those things could go together.

Those thoughts get put away when the noise swells again, and Loki goes up onto the roof to see how the plan is going. Everywhere he looks, the dozens of Chitauri that pour out of the portal are getting shot down and beaten up by the half-dozen earth defenders, including his brother. He doesn’t know where the gladness of this comes from, but the white swells again, and he’s turning away, towards where Selvig is monitoring the portal’s progress.

“How long?”

“In half an hour, it will hold on its own,” the beta informs him, and Loki wonders how much the white noise affects him. If it ever makes him do things he forgets he was supposed to do. Then it all goes to shit, and the white swells again, and the next time he’s aware of things the portal is closing and the one with the armor is flying into it with a cylinder and Loki is disproportionately sad to see him go. He turns to the room, pointing, and his eyes lock with this giant green monster.

He gets a moment of perfect clarity, where the full force of his mind rips momentarily free of the white noise’s hold, and he can get words around it’s struggle to take over.

“Help me,” he says, and then he attacks. 

Vaguely, he’s aware he is screaming as things flood back over him. As lives lost indiscriminately haunt him. He grips his head and grasps at his hair and screams as the past few days come back with aching, crystal clarity. Then it’s all dark again.

 

…

 

“Okay, well it’s not like I was wrong. Dude’s a bag of cats anyways, from what Thor’s got to say about him, but at least he wasn’t walking around murdering people because he wanted to,” Tony says from where he leans against the wall outside of SHIELD’s containment cells. Curled up in the bed is Loki, and, while they certainly have nothing that can genuinely contain his magic, they don’t need it just yet. They had all been forced to knock him out, just so he’d quit screaming, and he hasn’t shown any interest in anything else since then, just staring off into space.

“He can’t just go unpunished,” Steve says, eyeing the figure in the bed. He doesn’t understand why they have to play nursemaid to a would be conqueror.

“Well, he isn’t fit to do anything right now, so maybe tone down the whole “all must pay” thing. Besides, we know he’s had at least one psychotic break, so it doesn’t look like mental health is a thing in Asgard, and I cannot, in good faith, attempt to punish a man who would not be eligible for the death penalty in a court of law.” 

Tony is trying to relate all the things he feels are just flat wrong with punishing Loki without knowing the full extent of what he’s actually responsible for, and Thor has vowed to attempt to piece together some of Loki’s history so they can get a better look at things. Until then, it’s this: Loki on his own in a bed, so catatonic they have to put a tube in, eyes staring off into space.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like Steve is hearing anything.

“His mental health falls to Asgard to look after.”

“Asgard doesn’t do that, Captain America. Look, I get that you have an issue with omegas like him,”  _ like me _ , “but that doesn’t mean you can act on those issues.” Steve gets this look on his face, like he’s genuinely trying to think like 21st century Steve Rogers, and not 1940s Captain America. Tony resolves to do less provoking and more explaining. Maybe the reason he and Steve are clashing so much is because no one is giving him answers, but everyone’s telling him what he should and shouldn’t do.

“80 people, Tony.” 

“And when we know the scope of his mental health and what went down, when, and where and can get him evaluated, we will look at how he should deal with those people. For now, SI is reaching out to their families and reimbursing for funerals. I think I’m going to make a new branch for relief from superhero/villain activities.”

“I just don’t like the idea of him walking off scot free.” Tony snorts, looking at their unaware prisoner.

“I’ve seen scot free, Steve,” he says, trying to appeal to something other than logic with the use of his first name, since logical Rogers isn’t what he’s dealing with, “and this ain’t it. We're just thinking before we act. The last thing we want to do is take an insane god and make him moreso. Besides: he was being mind-controlled. We need to know about who was doing the mind controlling.” There’s quiet in the hallway for a moment as they both contemplate the sleeping Loki Odinson, and then:

“Did Obadiah Stane really try to kill you?”

“Yeah. Twice.”

“What happened?”

“He paid to have me assassinated. When the people doing the job realized what they had in their hands, they tried to make me make them weapons. It was an eye-opener, and I tried to turn the company off of weapons when I arrived back in the states. He tried to wrest control of the company from me, which almost succeeded, and eventually, he tried to take my heart,” Tony says with a tap against the blue circle just barely shining out of his chest. Steve’s never seen it. Tony doesn’t intend to show it to him.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” They’re quiet for another moment.

“So is that why…” Steve trails off, not sure if he can ask this.

“Why I’m what, Steve?” Tony encourages, well aware that he might be breaking down some little thing that’s kept them from working together well.

“You are the way you are.”

“No. There’s a lot of reasons for that, and while that whole ordeal certainly made me…. More than I would be otherwise, I was definitely like this before.” Just then, Thor rounds the corner, two women on his heals. One of them is most definitely his mother, and smells like early summer, where you can lay buck naked on a towel and sleep the day away. The other is most definitely an omega, and it relaxes Tony slightly to see them both.

Relaxation is not what he shows though, because he’s adopting his Tony Stark: genius billionaire playboy philanthropist persona when he bows at the waist to the queen of Asgard and looks up with a grin.

“I was hoping that you and me might end up together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more! Then we can start the next part of the series!


	6. I Missed You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frigga sees her son, and the world sees the team.

Frigga is the most calming beta Tony Stark has ever met. Like, in theory betas are meant to bridge gaps- they’re supposed to be more logical than either of their counterparts and not be drawn into the uncomfortably predator-prey aspect of alpha-omega relations. Most of the time, this actually works out. Most betas are counsellors or therapists or work in PR and, like Pepper after Tony learned to trust her, as the mediators in business and life in general.

Frigga is so beta that it makes Tony almost  _ long _ to get along with everyone in the room. She’s got some powerful pheromones. As usual, though, he tightens his gut and acts like Tony Fucking Stark- man on a mission- and not like a weak-ass omega.

“So do you want to look first and ask questions later or hear me fill you in while you look first and interrupt me with those questions? Either way is good. Totally good.” Except Frigga must have noted that it is definitely NOT good because Tony with a problem that doesn’t involve code is Tony with the Overactive Mouth. How she knows that second part, no one knows.

“I suppose you ought to speak,” Frigga notes, voice soft in the way only a beta wouldn’t try to change.

“Ah, so I’ve seen Loki, like, four times now and every time I do he smells like rot. Sometimes it’s not a lot of rot and sometimes it overpowering but rot all the same and I smelled it on Barton who he brainwashed and I guessed that maybe he and Barton actually had the same damn problem and that if I could get at whatever is causing the rot I could probably stop this whole mess but we didn’t wind up stopping this whole mess but I did manage to talk to what I think is the real Loki before I lost him and then Hulk smacked him around in the god version of what happened to snap Barton out of it and he’s been like this ever since,” Tony finishes with a gasp for air because shit that’s a really long sentence.

“I have never known an enemy of my son attempt to aid him before.”

“Well if Loki’s not the enemy, I was betting that he was taking the fall for who I should actually have an issue with and also mind control and I just couldn’t let that stand and-

“Tony, you’re talking her ear off,” Steve cuts in, and Tony thinks that Steve isn’t as harsh as he was pre-mission or really even pre-conversation. Still, Tony could see where he got off doing that whole My Way Is Right thing. Omega not treating an alpha right? Show ‘em the way it’s supposed to be done and it’ll all go well from then on out. He must have changed his assumptions if not his method of dealing with Tony. 

“Well she can tell me to stop herself, then, Steve.”

“Will you open the door?” Frigga queries, eyes on the worryingly still form of Loki Odinson. Tony shakes his head.

“We need clearance. Or rather, we need the appearance of needing clearance. I’ll be back.” As Tony turns a corner, Frigga sets her lovely eyes on this “Steve” fellow, who did not acknowledge her existence until he perceived Master Stark to be an annoyance.

“You are Master Steve, I presume?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she says, extending one graceful hand. Steve takes it, feeling faintly honored for whatever reason.

“Likewise.”

“Hey! I found a key!” Tony calls as he appears from around the corner, a man in an innocuous black suit following.

“Queen Frigga, this is agent Coulson. I just call him Agent. He really couldn’t give less of a shit in all things.”

“Language,” Steve mutters.

“Shit,” Tony tosses back with a conspiratorial wink. Frigga, it should be noted, does not react at all. Shield agents line the wall at her back, their guns pointed down, but every single one of them ready to come to life and fire should it become necessary.

Frigga, in all her queenly finery, steps over the unmarked threshold and into the containment room. She takes a good look at her son. He is not awake, yet not resting. Her heart aches for him, and she wonders where it started to go wrong- where she should have stopped believing him when he said he had himself under control. Where she should have intervened when he and Odin were fighting for control over what Loki ought to be doing. Where she should have stopped everything and made them all put it out in the open. But she did no such thing. She had believed and assumed and let herself be kept in the dark, and now her son was lying comatose in this sterile, disgustingly dead place that passes as a healing wing. 

She did no such thing, and now she is afraid of the damage lurking on the other side of that strong, proud, oh-so-vulnerable face. But she is queen, and Beta Prime of Asgard, and she has no room for fear. One hand, fingers calloused from playing the harp, and her various duties as an advanced healer, lifts to rest itself against her son’s (not her son, not really. Odin had never let her forget that) cheek.

It jumps at her- this twisting black thing, like a second soul, belonging to a man damned, as well as a sickness and a bind, tying the two together. The thing is twisting and tremulous and full of rage as it tries to snuff out the very center of her son’s soul, where all things truly him have retreated to shine like a tiny sun in the abyss. It roars, and it won’t let her baby go. She clasps the other side of his face and closes her eyes, concentrating. The gold rope that edges her gown is complimentary against Loki’s sallow skin, and his mouth is open now, lips dry and cracked. His breathing is heavier, with a tone of raggedness Frigga would rather not hear.

She gets her grip, mentally and physically, and works towards that tiny little ball of light in her son’s mind. She pushes and squirms and burns her way when nothing else works, but still she cannot cull the wheat from the shaft. All that darkness fights her, tries to wrap around her and go back along her amber connections to her own mind and attack her, too. And the wheat, the wheat thinks this is how it ought to be, and so she cannot pull, because every part of her son pulls back. 

Suddenly, it seems like the light her son has left realizes that it is dying in the dark, and, while it no longer fights Frigga, it also does not fight the dark. It is a limp exhausted thing. Somewhere far off, Frigga hears coughing, feels the presence of another suffering as that person attempts to aid her, clumsy as the effort is.

Together though, they separate light from dark, and light explodes, burning away everything that isn’t native to the soul, and in the end, Loki is left there, weak and gasping and radiating the abject terror any creature, omega or not, ought. Automatically, Frigga gathers her son close to her, letting him sob into her chest as he pulls his knees close and attempts to disappear when his magic is too weak to aid him. 

Her eyes, a little more sighted now, land on the one who aided her. His face is pale and wrecked, but he tries not to be too obvious about it as he leans against the hospital bed. His dark brown eyes are watching, waiting to see if they were successful. He meets Frigga’s gaze, who silently turns one hand up in an offer. He takes it, and her magic and her orientation center him again. 

She can see intelligence in him, deep depths hidden by a fast repertoire of verbal swordplay. Much like her son. 

“Master Tony, I must thank you,” Frigga says, soft as water while her son stills in his shaking. Almost on instinct, Tony reaches his hand out and brushes it along Loki’s hair, and it seems to be all he needs to collapse back into sleep. Real sleep, this time. Sleep that will do him better, and not worse.

“It was nothing.”

“It is not nothing. My son is strong, and his magic can be more toxic than poison when he is threatened. It takes a great deal to treat him for anything when he is not fully aware.”

“Ah.”

“Ah, indeed.” Tony just gives her a lopsided grin and shrugs one shoulder.

“Well, you know how it is- strongest omega or some bullshit like that. Right. I’ll, uh, leave you two to it, then. Just a quick warning, Fury’s going to want to know everything Reindeer games has been through, so if you were planning on taking him on planet for some R and R, ya might want to do it now. Right. Uhm. See ya.”

“You’re going to be on the hook for that,” Coulson says, mildly as ever. 

“When am I not on the hook?” Despite nearly being killed in the same meltdown that let the Hulk loose, Coulson seems okay to Tony, which makes the billionaire wonder how he’s okay with Tony telling Frigga to take her son and go.

He must not hold grudges too often.

“That is a fair point, Mr. Stark. May I now suggest you also take your new team and beat it? Video-conference with me in a day or so, and we can do the debrief via that?”

“Yeah, yeah. Jarv? Text Agent my number.”

 

…

 

There’s lights flashing, cameras too close despite them all being on the other side of the barrier. People are trying to yell questions, trying not to fight each other, all clamouring for a look of an off-guard Tony Stark. They’re not going to get it.

The man in question is sitting there in dark, wine red, matching sunglasses on, makeup flawlessly covering up bruises and sleeplessness. He sits to the right of the main chair, next to Captain America: leader of the newly formed Avengers. On Captain America’s other side sits Thor Odinson, brother of Loki, officially known by the internet as The Sane One. Next to him are Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton, superspies. On Tony’s other side is Bruce Banner, unobtrusive, looking to disappear entirely.

A new woman, not Pepper, but covertly trained and prepped by her, stands at the podium to the left to the long table the Avengers all sit at.

“Okay, everyone, calm down. This press conference is now in session. To you, Captain America.” Steve picks a hand out at random.

“Who is behind the Chitauri attack?”

“We believe it was an extraterrestrial not Asgardian in origin, and possibly not even known by Asgard. Next question.”

“And Prince Loki? What about him? He headed the attack.”

“Loki was under mind control, and had suffered a psychotic break just before his disappearance. He cannot be held accountable. Next Question.”

“His death toll is up to 134 people, if you include the events of Puente Antiguo. If he is not held responsible, who is?”

“That’s a hard question to answer,” Tony butts in before Steve can open mouth and insert foot all over the mic, “On the one hand, he took lives and devastated countless others, both under the influence of mind control and, when it was not that, an extremely unstable mental state, so it is clear he needs some sort of correction. However, we could not seek a death penalty, because he is certifiably insane and, therefore, by law, unable to be put up for capital punishment. The blame falls to him, and yet it doesn’t. 

“So while that question doesn’t necessarily have a good answer, I can tell you with absolute certainty that Stark Industries has taken over the the responsibilities and the duties created by Loki’s actions, and she and myself personally will be seeing to the rebuilding, and, maybe, if the victims have it in them, some sort to closure. Next question.”

“And when he comes back? Can you guarantee his sanity? Can you guarantee he will not go on another killing spree?” Tony leans a little closer to the mic.

“No. Nothing is a guarantee. He could very well pop on over and do what our own people did to us, no Loki required- drop a bomb on the city. What I can say is that he is in the care of his mother, who will get his head straight if that’s the last thing she does. Mothers do that sort of thing, after all.” It gains him a few chuckles.

“And when the next invasion happens? When we all start dropping like flies and losing everything we have?” Steve takes over once again.

“Then the avengers will be there. No matter where we get to in the meantime, if there’s a threat, we’ll come running,” Steve takes back over. He knows the answer to this one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, concrit and comments are loved and appreciated. The next chapter of the next work is going up today, too, so yay!


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